


but oh it's heaven, nowadays

by lalalyds2



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Sibling Incest, Spellcest, also the sisters are much older, cuz this is set in 2019, honestly the first two thirds of it is just modern clothing porn, read that as you will ;p, so... yeah, this is seriously some Soft Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 17:11:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19430431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalyds2/pseuds/lalalyds2
Summary: It's 2019.Hilda's in leggings.Zelda is one tired High Priestess.They cuddle on the couch.The author predicts the only way caos should end.That is all.





	but oh it's heaven, nowadays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterhearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterhearts/gifts).



> dedicated to cayley, because hilda in leggings was entirely her bit of genius and i just grabbed the idea and ran with it ;p  
> thanks dearie - you've dragged muse back into my body and how she's SINGING  
> mostly that she's thirsty  
> but aren't we all ;p

They do not make high heels as they used to.

Zelda leans against the front door, her feet crying for release from a prison of kitten heels resting on tiny points and pinching her toes to pieces.

Walking around the Academy for hours on end used to be a cinch.

Now, it’s all she can do not to stagger home at the end of the day.

Hilda had suggested she wear flats.

Zelda had suggested she keep her mouth shut.

Still, as she winces her way to the parlor, she begrudges internal her little sister’s clothing advice.

Someone who’d once said Crocs were a perfectly acceptable shoe brand to wear in public should never be trusted when it comes to good taste.

Although, as Zelda comes upon her sister reading on the couch, sometimes Hilda could come through on the _fashionably comfortable_ front.

Hilda doesn’t look up as Zelda gingerly steps in — too used to the clipped sounds of Zelda’s shoes on the hardwood to be bothered to put down whatever bleeding-heart bodice ripper she's currently invested in.

Her hair grown out over the many years is all messy and high up in a bun on her head. A few tendrils have escaped and hang loose, following the frame of her plastic-rim glasses.

Which she is constantly pushing up as they inevitably slide down her nose.

Her pink, fuzzy-toed socks cross over each other as she reads something most likely scandalous.

Zelda follows the action — taking in the black leggings, the over-sized gray sweater that hangs off shoulder.

Her eyes snag on the lace bralette strap on said shoulder, baby rose pink, blushing against that freckly skin that always looks sun heated.

“You look comfy, sister.” Zelda states.

She certainly does not sound breathless, does not look moonstruck, does not lick her lips.

“Mm, I am.” Hilda still does not look up from her book. “You should join me.”

“I would wrinkle.”

Hilda finally looks up at that, scrunches her nose in appreciation for Zelda’s pressed suit.

Her eyes follow the sharp lines with lazy fervor.

“Just change.”

Zelda pouts, rests a hand on the back of the couch as she reaches over to wiggle her feet from their fashionable torture devices.

“You don’t appreciate my effort.”

Hilda sits up, crossing her legs and propping her chin up on one little fist.

“I do too. I just know it isn’t comfortable.”

Zelda’s look could pierce water.

“Comfort isn’t everything.”

Hilda simply rolls her eyes.

“Just go put on pajamas, Zelds.”

Zelda huffs, because who’s the big sister here, but heads to the stairs.

Over her shoulder, she can’t help but throw, “there’d better be popcorn and a movie on when I get back.”

“Of course, sister.”

“A _good_ movie.”

“What else would I choose?”

Zelda doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

~*~

She’s in dark blue and silk when she comes back down.

Popcorn and a movie does indeed greet her.

She’s pretty sure the movie will be terrible.

But Hilda always makes perfect popcorn, so at least there’s that.

She pushes Hilda forward, grabbing a handful of buttery goodness before settling behind her.

Hilda immediately leans back, her hair tickling the side of Zelda’s neck.

Her sweater is plush against Zelda’s front, thick and soft as rabbits’ fur.

Zelda doesn’t resist the temptation to pet her sister’s arm.

Hilda sighs contentedly at the caress, sleepily asking, “And how is Sabrina?”

“The same. Brilliant. Headstrong. Teaching blasphemy.”

“What did you expect, tasking her this year with teaching witch history?”

Zelda yanks Hilda’s bun.

“Ow.”

“Don’t sass.”

Hilda snorts, patting Zelda’s knee. Zelda just squeezes her knees tighter around Hilda’s ribs.

“And Ambrose?”

“If he lets his students summon one more demon inside the school, I will fire him.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“You have to admit, it makes Wednesdays extra interesting.”

Zelda just huffs.

They watch the screen for a little while. People say words and move around, but she can’t be bothered to pay attention when Hilda’s hair keeps tickling her nose.

She pulls the hairband from gold, let’s the feathery soft out and runs her fingers through silky blonde.

Hilda sighs happily, going limp and leaning her head back.

“How was the cafe?” Zelda asks, feeling her heart rate slow as stress seeps out from her fingers.

“It was fine. I think I’m going to sell it though.”

“ _What_?” Zelda goes stiff in alarm.

Hilda makes noise at the sudden discomfort. She relaxes a little, but only just.

“Why? You love the bookstore.”

Hilda shrugs, settling back against her.

“I just think it’s time. It’s changed so much after Cee, there’s barely anything of him left in it.”

Zelda frowns, presses a kiss against Hilda’s hair, then resumes playing with strands in long strokes.

They go quiet again as memory hangs up above them.

Hilda had lived with Cee for a time in the 90’s, holding down the cafe and taking care of her lover till the very end.

Zelda had missed her deeply, feeling the absence sharply in the solar plexus every time she’d woken up and hadn’t seen Hilda lying there beside her.

It had helped her keep things in perspective after Hilda came home one day and cried so hard the entire house had sagged in sympathy for its heartbroken girl.

Zelda had held her tight and they’d splintered together.

Now it’s been a couple decades, and Zelda hugs her sister as tightly as she had then.

“Well, it’s your decision Hilda, but I do think you’d miss it.”

Hilda pats her arm, bolstered by the embrace.

“I know. I haven’t decided anything final yet.”

Zelda hums, then Hilda hums.

Sentimental nostalgia runs a little longer, then it runs its course.

Hilda pokes Zelda’s knee and wriggles against her.

“Play with my hair again.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Hildegard.”

And yet, her hands somehow find their way back into Hilda’s addictively soft mane.

The movie begs the sisters’ attention, and finally — they give it.

~*~

“Have any gossip from school?” Hilda asks drowsily as the credits roll.

“You know I don’t participate in something as trifling as gossip.”

Hilda’s guffaw shakes the very couch.

Zelda yanks the hair she’d abandoned for the last half hour.

Hilda’s little shriek gives way to a throaty moan.

“You’re asking for trouble, little sister.”

Hilda looks up at her, slow blinking and heavy lidded, and Zelda resists the urge to blush.

“I just thought you had something to share with me.”

“Gossip specifically? When you know I don’t participate?”

Hilda grins, and Zelda knows she’s just trying to rile her.

“Well you tend to hear a lot of it, for someone doesn’t participate.”

It works.

Hilda’s moan is louder as Zelda yanks another strand.

And then Zelda’s bending over and kissing Hilda full on the mouth.

She’s soft and pliable, lips smooth and tasting faintly of popcorn butter.

Zelda bites the salt, tastes her sister’s hiss.

Hilda’s glasses fog up.

“Why don’t you tell _me_ some gossip, since you’re so keen on it.”

“Alright,” Hilda gasps against her, pausing to catch Zelda’s lower lip between her teeth.

“Have you heard what they say about the High Priestess?”

“What?” Zelda moans into her.

“They say she fucks her sister.”

Zelda thrusts her tongue into Hilda’s mouth.

“They say she’s easy.”

It’s like lightning against the sky, Zelda’s reaction.

Fisting Hilda’s hair and tugging it gold delish, Zelda bends further and bites the full line of Hilda’s neck. 

Hilda’s groan is ecstatic, like fantasy fulfilled.

~*~

She can’t decide if she likes Hilda in leggings or not.

The easy stretch as Hilda straddles her lap is nice, but she must admit she misses hearing the ripping of jeans, or cotton, or whatever material she’s pulled off her sister’s body.

Elastic just takes the pull and stays fine.

She misses seeing the physical fruits of her labor, like the scattered buttons on the floor, or the tattered chemise, or the torn lace.

There is something satisfying in seeing ardor spread out in expensive fabrics.

But as Hilda bears her hips down against hers again, Zelda decides she doesn’t care.

Hilda in anything is her favorite.

She kisses that bruising throat and whispers happy into well-loved skin.

Hilda sighs, hands greedy under that silk blue top, palming warmth to Zelda’s goose-bumped breasts.

Her nails scratch and Zelda shudders.

“Someone’s been growing out their fingernails.” She notes, feeling the sting pleasantly.

“Not all of us bite.”

She scrapes an open mouth against Hilda’s freckle constellated collarbones.

“That’s simply not true.”

Hilda clenches her thighs, and immediate action is called for.

Zelda wiggles her hand under the waistband of Hilda’s leggings, grinning as Hilda murmurs a constant stream of _please_.

She is met with curls, and wet, and nothing else.

Only at her raised brow does Hilda blush.

“I don’t like underwear lines.”

She is rewarded with a tongue in her mouth, stroking the roof of it as strong fingers stroke her dripping folds.

She squirms, hips rolling as she strives for more friction, but it’s only slow touching and shallow caressing.

Her groan is frustrated. She bites down on Zelda.

Her sister has the gall to laugh.

“Don’t tease,” Hilda whines, hands clasping around the back of Zelda’s neck as she bears down again.

“Can’t help it. My sister’s _cute_ when she’s needy.”

Hilda just growls, pulling away to shove her own hand down the front of her leggings.

Her fingers brush against Zelda’s as she finds her clit. They both gasp.

And then Zelda’s pushed two of her fingers through sodden folds and thrusting gently.

Hilda sighs a _finally_ but doesn’t stop her frantic rub.

“You’re not going to last very long,” Zelda warns.

Hilda kisses her, a bit messily.

“Don’t care. We can go again after your turn.”

And then Zelda is thrusting up in earnest and Hilda is moaning and shuddering around her and clenching her fingers so tightly they’ve definitely lost circulation.

Zelda scolds herself for forgetting this:

Hilda in anything is her favorite, but Hilda in orgasm is something entirely other.

Hilda kisses her once the stars have settled a bit more securely in her gaze.

Kisses her again.

One more time, for symmetry.

Zelda realizes that, at some point, Hilda’s glasses must have fallen off.

And then she’s sagging into her older sister’s form, giddy against her neck, solid in her embrace.

They are simply one body, cuddling on the couch, breathing in tandem.

Hilda lifts up only to rest her forehead against her sister’s.

Her smile still leaves Zelda breathless, after all this time.

“Your turn?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Hilda snorts.

“Just help me find my glasses first. I can’t see a thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> also dedicated to the rest of the spellcest fandom, for sharing love and spreading happy, and for all of you being so hugely talented it's like walking among giants xx


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